


Taking Flight

by paien



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Healing, Romance, Slow Burn, Some fluff and humor thrown in there too, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-18
Updated: 2021-03-22
Packaged: 2021-03-26 20:01:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,271
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30111294
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paien/pseuds/paien
Summary: Snape had always worried about the state of his soul. Lily offers him a means of sheltering it from further damage, providing a path for Snape and Harry to push aside past differences in their resolute quest to end the war. Meanwhile, Hermione spends more time with Snape and realizes that he is integral not only for winning the war, but also for her own soul.(moving my old fics over from FFN finally). It's been so long I don't remember the exact details - will possibly need to update tags as I go through the chapters.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Hermione Granger/Severus Snape
Comments: 2
Kudos: 17





	1. The Proposal

**Author's Note:**

> Oh boy, so this fic is the longest I've ever written (not that it's super long, but it's long for me). It's been unfinished on Fanfiction for a while, but I figured since I'm moving my other fics I might as well start moving this one over too.
> 
> I started rereading it and got back into the writing itch, so I'm going to post the finished chapters slowly as a buffer and hopefully get to work on the rest of it (no peeking on FFN for spoilers!! jk)! I'll be honest though, with life as it is right now I can't guarantee it'll be finished anytime soon aha. But since it's fairly lengthy I thought I might as well share it, and hopefully you get some enjoyment out of it :)

Darkness shrouded the Muggle neighbourhood. Tumultuous black clouds passed overhead like an angry overseer, although Snape was unsure whether this was meant as a bad omen for him or for the Muggles—he was never particularly proficient at Divination. 

Of course, after The Prophecy, he tended to avoid anything to do with the subject.

His heart gave one painful palpitation and he rubbed at his chest with a slight grimace.  _ Best not to lose focus here _ , he thought as he glanced to his left, where a figure in sleek black robes and a silver mask crouched next to him in a backyard. 

His companion spoke up, “What, exactly, is the point of this contraption?”

“It's just a swimming pool, Lucius. Surely you've heard of such a thing?” Snape replied, his sneer hidden behind his mask.

“Fuck off, Severus, I know what the ruddy thing is. What I don’t understand is why it is so garishly colored, made of this bizarre squishy material, and has been left out in the open.” Malfoy eyed the inflatable pool contemptuously. He shifted his legs and Snape winced at the crackling of joints. “I’m getting too damn old for this.”

Snape silently agreed but didn’t answer. What was the point of it all? Being sent out on these ridiculous Muggle raids to attack innocent people was  _ not _ what he wanted to do after a long day of teaching class and grading papers. As if Hogwarts wasn’t already infested with soul-sucking fiends, he now had to finish the day off by tearing a piece of whatever of his soul was left.

“Once this whole bloody war is over, you and I are taking a nice long vacation, my friend.”

“Shh,” Snape hissed as two faint  _ pops _ echoed in the distance. He idly fingered the coin hidden in his pocket to alert the Order—Granger’s idea, which Dumbledore unsurprisingly crowed over—and prayed that they would arrive quickly.

“It’s Mulciber and Avery. I thought Bellatrix was meant to be involved?” Malfoy questioned.

“It seems your esteemed sister-in-law is a no-show, my dear,” Snape replied. “If that causes a problem tonight…”

“She would never skive off on something like this. Merlin, Mulciber is as thick as they come. As much as I try to avoid her, at least Bella possesses some inkling of intelligence. Who thought it was a good idea to let him come along?”

“He will undoubtedly fuck this up and land us all in Azkaban.”

Lucius shuddered at the thought of returning and opened his mouth, primed with another insult.

A flash of green light from inside the house cut short their conversation, and the two robed figures stood up to enter the house from the back. Snape fell in behind Malfoy Sr. as the blond Death Eater unlocked the back door and set up wards around the area. Fingering the coin once again, he surveyed his surroundings with an odd sense of foreboding as he felt the coin heat up from his message:

_ No Lstrng? Mlcbr instd. _

Snape removed his hand from his pocket and drew his wand. He followed Lucius inside as they headed toward the sound of tortured screaming and begging. 

Upon entering the living room, Mulciber ended the third round of Cruciatus on the Muggle woman. The man was already dead, and as Snape cast a cold, unfeeling gaze around the room, it was clear why—trails of organs and intestines paraded the floor and walls. 

“Charming, Mulciber,” Snape drawled. He flicked his wand, collecting the entrails in a neat pile between the two Muggles and leaving behind a show of stained bloody mockery.

“Really, must you make such a mess?” Malfoy tutted, his usual expression of disdain evident even with the mask on. “It’s  _ so  _ Muggle.”

“Where is Avery?” Snape cut in as Mulciber seemed to take offense.

“Upstairs,” the man grunted as he poked at the woman and checked for signs of life.

Snape’s eyes glinted sharply. “Is that so? What could possibly be so enthralling that he did not even wait to greet the Dark Lord’s most trusted followers?”  _ What could he be doing? It’s just a Muggle house and the residents are all down here _ —

“Perhaps I shall check on Avery; the poor sod probably got lost. Mulciber, do hurry along and finish the entertainment off—if you haven’t already.” Snape took off his mask and raised an eyebrow at Malfoy, who was standing stiffly in the middle of the room as if he would be contaminated. “Lucius, feel free to add a more  _ regal _ touch to the decor. Just don’t play too long—we’ve other houses to visit."

Snape left the room and stalked darkly upstairs. Where were the Order? Surely it couldn’t take that long to disassemble Lucius’ wards. He followed the sound of Avery’s voice as it carried from one of the bedroom’s upstairs.

“You know, Mulciber likes to get his hands dirty when he plays. Must be the half-blood in him.” A pause, and Snape was sure that Avery was sneering at Mulciber’s technique. “But if you listen to me, I know curses that could boil you from the inside-out. Wouldn’t you like that, pumpkin? It’s clean and efficient - well, maybe not efficient, but it’ll kill you in the end.”

Snape approached the half-closed door with a growing sense of trepidation. “Avery, you sick fuck,” he muttered in disgust and toyed with the DA coin again.

_ 2 dead, 1 upstairs? _

Taking a deep breath, he pushed the door open. “Evening, Avery,” he greeted politely and, he hoped, calmly.

“Snape? How are ya, you old dog? Been a while since you’ve had some fun with us.” Avery turned from the crib to grin madly at him, and Snape was reminded unpleasantly of Barty Crouch Jr.

“Indeed. Mulciber is still as messy as ever, I see. What are you doing?” Stay calm. Voice level. Don’t panic. The child seemed unharmed for now. He tried to ignore the muffled cries from behind the toy car jammed in the infant’s mouth.

“I found this here young’un and thought I’d have some fun since Mulciber’s hogging the Muggles downstairs. I was just gonna teach him some more elegant curses. Any suggestions?”

Snape made a show of rolling his eyes and leaning against the doorframe in exasperation. “I suggest you hurry up so that we can move on to another house. It’s hardly much of a raid if we spend all our time on one family. In fact, why don’t I handle this for you? You run along and collect Mulciber.”

“No way, Snape. Just ‘cause you’ve been away from the job for a while don’t mean you can take this one off me. I found him, so I get to take care of him. I think a blood-boiling curse would do nicely, don’t you?”

As soon as Avery had finished talking, shouts erupted from the floor below; the Order had  _ finally _ arrived. Snape jumped upright and feigned surprise. “What the bloody hell is that? Let’s go, Avery. I told you not to waste time.”

“Alright, alright,” the other Death Eater grumbled. Before Snape could stop him, he cast a beam of red light at the gagged child. Avery fled downstairs.

Snape cursed as he watched the child’s eyes start to widen as skin began to bubble from underneath. He swore again when he heard the distinct cackling of Bellatrix Lestrange floating upstairs.

Large blue eyes stared up at him, then squeezed shut in pain. Snape swore a third time because he knew that there was no hope for the child - he might have been able to stop the curse in an adult, but it spread too quickly through the baby’s small body. 

“Forgive me,” he whispered as he aimed his wand and cast the Killing Curse. He allowed himself to hunch over the crib before straightening almost immediately and casting  _ Morsmordre  _ out the window. He turned on his heel and strode towards the door.

He was stopped in his tracks by Tonks, who stood a few feet down the hall with her wand pointed at his chest.

“What’s going on?” he asked, instinctively raising his wand as well. Something was wrong. Her mouth was gaping stupidly and her eyes were glazed over. “Imperius,” he breathed.

Both jabbed their wands at the same time. Tonks’ stupefied body flew over the rails and landed on the main floor with a  _ thud. _ Snape dove to the floor, only to feel Tonks’ spell reverberate in his right leg. He rolled heavily and attempted to stand back up, only to feel the bone-shattering curse compress his leg. The bones cracked and splintered and he collapsed with a pained inhalation. He moaned as he tried desperately to recall the countercurse. 

His vision began to black out even as he weakly tried to lift his wand arm. Blond hair suddenly filled his view, though it seemed to be fading into a vibrant red. When had Lucius gotten red highlights?

He faintly heard Lucius growl, “Severus?! Merlin’s beard, I’m getting  _ too damn old _ for this.” And then an arm slipped underneath his body and he felt bile rising into his mouth as the familiar squeeze of Apparition jolted his shattered leg.

* * *

When Snape came to, he found himself sitting in a rocking chair by a creek. He glanced down at his leg and realized that it was fully healed. Frowning, he stood up, whirling around in a circle as he recognized his surroundings. What was he doing in Spinner’s End?

He automatically began walking towards his house, only to feel a pull urging him in the other direction; impulse dragged him in front of Lily’s home. Almost feeling as though he was Imperiused, he turned the doorknob and stepped inside. A shudder overcame him at the familiar sight of the Evans’ entryway and he clenched his hand in despair. 

“It took you long enough, Sev,” a voice rang sweetly from the kitchen.

Snape’s chest tightened and he groaned. Motherfuck, he was dead. He’d failed Albus and Potter and even that damned Muggle baby. Granger would feel terrible because her coin trick didn’t help. Lucius would have no friend to drink with. Bugger it all, felled by a clumsy Imperiused auror.

“Stop being ridiculous and come inside,” Lily called again.

Snape visibly startled and was glad there was no one around to witness it. How did she know? 

“Sev,” she said warningly, but with the same gentle tone, “don’t make me come out there.”

Forcing himself to move, he warily entered the bright kitchen, wand hand tensed. Almost disbelievingly, he gaped at the thin figure before him. She was as lovely as ever—brilliant red hair to match her vibrant presence. The sunlight glinted off her pale skin and gave her an ethereal glow, while the glare off her wedding ring seemed to burn right through him. Was this heaven or hell?

“Severus Snape,” she snapped upon walking over to him. “You. Are. Not. Dead. I didn’t realize you had grown to be so thick.”

He raised an eyebrow mockingly at her choice of words. In reply, Lily fiercely gripped his head in her hands; the damned ring dug painfully into his cheekbone.

“It was a serious injury and you passed out—it was certainly a very, very close call. I’d advise you to be more careful next time, love. As close to dead as you were, you’d think it would have been easier to meet you in your mind. Of course, you never could make things easy, could you?”

He closed his eyes and tried to ignore her presence. It was wrong—everything felt wrong. And she was too close to him; he could feel her breath caressing his face.

With a sigh, Lily released his head and tugged him over to the living room, where she pushed him gently onto the couch. She sat down beside him, a pensive expression on her face.

“So am I in the process of dying?” Severus asked finally.

“No, Severus. I was actually walking around in the afterlife with James when a giant portal appeared out of nowhere. It was the kind of thing that you’d have laughed at, I’m sure. But I knew what I had to do—I  _ saw _ you dying. Lucius is a good friend—he saved your body. I’m here to save your soul.” She turned her green eyes on him. “It’s fate, I’m certain.”

At this, Snape scoffed. “Now I know I’m in hell. Lily, my soul has already been fragmented. Or did you miss the part where I murdered a child?” Strangely enough, he did not feel the usual pang of anger towards James Potter when he heard his name.

Lily snorted. “Self-loathing doesn’t become you. I much preferred my task-oriented, confident, brilliant Sev. You’ll always be an arse, but I think you’ll feel much better now without the guilt. I can tell it’s working—you didn’t react at all to James’ name.”

“What have you done? What witchcraft is this?” Because it was true—not even her adoring words affected him as much as he had thought they would whenever he fantasized,

“It’s  _ divine intervention _ ,” she teased happily. 

“Now you’re being ridiculous. You know I don’t believe in that tripe, and neither do you.”

“Of course not, but magic works in mysterious ways. I know it’s against your nature to not understand things that happen, but trust me on this—just go with it. When you’ve lived in the afterlife for so long, you begin to simply accept whatever happens.”

“What’s it like?” he whispered.

“At first, you feel powerless because you know there’s nothing you can do for those you left behind. You have  _ no _ idea, Sev, how much I wanted to help you all those years.” At this, Lily averted her tear-brightened eyes. “It’s truly in the past, though, and I want you to focus on the future instead. You’ve done so much for my boy, and I know you’ll continue to do so.”

Snape grimaced at her as she turned to look earnestly into his eyes. 

“I’ve only got so much time with you right now, though. Even magic can only do so much. Just hear me out, okay? I know you think your soul is beyond hope, but I can see it and there is absolutely nothing wrong with it. No one’s soul comes to the afterlife perfect. This is going to be the most bizarre analogy you’ll ever hear, so you better promise not to laugh. You know those Gameboys that Muggles use nowadays?”

Snape stared at her. “If this is what happens to people in heaven, I think I’d prefer hell.”

Lily laughed and hit him on the arm. “Shut up and listen—this is serious.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” he grumbled and rubbed his arm jokingly. “Yes, I am vaguely familiar with the stupid things.”

“Good. Now, just imagine that your soul is a Gameboy—shut  _ up _ —and that it’s been dropped. Not enough to completely break it, but the glass is cracked and it’s scratched and it’s not perfect-looking anymore.”

He stifled his laughter, nodding instead.

“I can be the protective case for that Gameboy. It’s not too late for it, but it must be done soon.”

Snape was eyeing her suspiciously now. “And what are the conditions for this case?”

“You have to protect Harry and his two friends,” Lily said softly. “I know you’ve essentially been doing that anyway, but with this agreement you must  _ actively _ do so. I have no doubt that you would sacrifice your life for any of them, but what about the little things? Bullying, family matters, whatever—just imagine if someone had been there for you, how different your life would have been. The big issues might’ve seemed just slightly less daunting if the little problems weren’t so prominent. Think about it, Sev. And remember, you can’t protect someone if you don’t know what’s going on in their life.”


	2. Intro to Healing

Hermione entered the Great Hall, bag slung over her shoulder, and took her customary seat beside Harry and Ron. “Good morning,” she chirped brightly at them.

Ron feigned a groan and covered his face while Harry faked a wince. 

She rolled her eyes at their antics. “Anything in the papers?”

The boys immediately straightened and their demeanours turned serious, casting covert glances around the Hall. Harry slid a copy of the Daily Prophet over to Hermione, his eyes downcast. “There was a raid just outside of Muggle London, but only one family was killed. No other houses were attacked; the Order must’ve stopped them.”

She didn’t have to ask who  _ them _ was. “No other casualties?” she asked meaningfully.

“I’ve not heard anything,” Ron answered. 

Harry shook his head as well. “Neither have I. Not that it means much - no one tells us anything.”

Hermione sighed. It was true—Dumbledore and the Order weren’t terribly forthcoming with information. They usually had to scrounge up whatever news they could find from the papers. Occasionally, Fred and George sent updates by owl, but even that source had dwindled lately. She wasn’t sure if that was a good or bad thing. 

“Well, maybe we can send a letter to the twins later tonight. Harry, have you heard anything from Padfoot?” she inquired.

“Nothing,” he replied in frustration.

Hermione smiled sympathetically. She knew Harry was growing more impatient each day. “It’s getting late. We’d better get to Defense before Professor Snape takes points off.”

“It’s been a year now since he’s been the Defense teacher—d’you reckon the curse is still active? I didn’t see him at breakfast today,” Ron mused.

“Ron, don’t say things like that,” Hermione scolded, though there was no real malice in his voice. Their problems had escalated much larger than one strict, unreasonable teacher. “At any rate, he was at the welcoming feast, so the curse must be gone. Right, Harry?” She glanced past Ron and frowned when she came upon Harry’s empty seat. 

“That wanker left without us!” Ron exclaimed. “Quick, we’re gonna be late!”

Hermione laughed as Ron levitated their bags and stood hunched over, back toward her. 

“Hop on!” he cried. “I’ll get us there in time.”

She giggled again and instead secured their bags on his back with a quick charm, patting his back affectionately as they jogged off.

* * *

Hermione entered the classroom as quietly as she could. Unfortunately, her stealthy entrance was ruined by Ron following in after her, face red and breathing heavily. She looked over at Snape’s desk in terror, only to find that it was Professor Dumbledore seated in the chair. 

“Oh, er, sorry, Professor,” she said. “We were running late.”

“Not to worry, my dear. Please, have a seat. As I was saying, Professor Snape is off doing some Potions research in Eastern Europe. I hope you’ll forgive me my rustiness—I’ve not taught a class in quite a while. As such, we’ll be starting off rather slow today; everyone turn to page…”

Hermione frowned as Dumbledore moved onto more mundane topics. It seemed too much of a coincidence that Snape was suddenly unable to teach the day after a Death Eater raid. She sent a significant glance in Harry’s direction, certain that he was also thinking along the same lines. He nodded back and mouthed, “Later.”

The remainder of the class eased along at a stroll. Dumbledore had them dissecting the theory in the books, then promised the next class they would put it all into practice. 

As she stood up to leave with the boys, the Headmaster raised an arresting hand and they froze in their spots. “If you three wouldn’t mind, come to the Infirmary at seven o’clock. There are some things that I would like to discuss with you.”

The trio nodded their acquiescence and hustled outside the classroom to the greenhouses.

“What was that all about?” Ron asked in bewilderment. “You don’t think someone was hurt last night, do you?”

“What good would we be if someone was?” Hermione countered. “No, it must be something else, although the Hospital Wing is an odd place for a discussion.”

* * *

After supper, Hermione led Harry and Ron to the Infirmary. Perhaps it had something to do with Professor Snape’s absence? She heaved the heavy door open and spotted Dumbledore in a hushed conversation with Madame Pomfrey outside her office.

He beamed jovially as the trio approached. “Excellent! Now we can begin,” he said, his speech punctuated with a clap of his hands.

“Begin what, Professor?” Harry asked, brow furrowed behind his glasses. 

“We have decided that this year, and possibly later years if all goes well, there shall be another subject added to the curriculum: healing magic. As I'm sure you can imagine, the content could be useful in the foreseeable future,” Dumbledore said wryly.

“That sounds brilliant!” Hermione exclaimed.  _ Much more useful than Divination, anyway _ . “But how can we help?”

“Quite easily, actually,” he assured, pulling out a scroll from his pocket. “Because this is a rather spur-of-the-moment decision, we have yet to finalize the outline for this course. With Professor Snape unavailable, I will be rather busy for the next few weeks, so I was hoping that you three would like to help Madame Pomfrey design the new Healing class—available to sixth and seventh years only. It is tricky magic, and if it is done incorrectly, can have horrible consequences.”

“Of course,” Hermione agreed, shuddering at the thought of a botched healing spell. 

“Now, if the first month or two runs smoothly, we may offer elementary healing to fourth and fifth years. I’ll leave you to it for now, however, as I have a meeting with Professor McGonagall that I must attend. If I were to be late, I fear for the state of my office; she tends to play tag with Fawkes when she is bored. Good luck to you all—I have the utmost faith.” Dumbledore flourished the scroll in front of them and left it levitated in the air as he exited the Hospital Wing. 

“Alright,” Madame Pomfrey said briskly. “Let’s get to work, shall we? Scooch over, Mr. Potter, Mr. Weasley; I’m going to bring that table over here.” With a few flicks of her wand, a round table and chairs floated over and the parchment was lowered.

Hermione grinned to herself at the opportunity to learn such an exciting field of magic. And, even better, it should help the boys feel useful and reduce their agitation. 

“We want to start off the syllabus fairly simple—no point in rushing in to healing a broken leg,” Pomfrey began. “I know your knowledge of healing spells may be fairly limited, so why don’t you come up with situations where these spells would be used?”

“Well, when I was younger, Mum used to always use a spell to repair any scrapes and cuts I’d get when I fell down,” Ron offered. “I never knew what it was called because she always did it nonverbally.”

“Yes, certainly some of the minor healing spells can become almost second nature to you—especially for your mother with all those children running around. Very good, Mr. Weasley.”

“But what if the cut was larger?” Hermione asked. “Surely it’s not as easy as a simple spell to fix it.”

“That’s right.” Pomfrey beamed. “I’m glad to see that you’re all so enthusiastic about this. As the severity of the injury increases, magical healing can become very complicated very quickly. There are many things that must be considered: age, weight, height, the type of injury and where it is are just the beginning. I have borrowed some mannequins from St. Mungo’s to use as examples in class.”

“So you’ll be teaching?” Harry asked.

“Myself and Professor Dumbledore will be, yes. Occasionally, your help may be required as someone will always have to be in the Hospital Wing. I believe the Headmaster actually planned it out so that Mr. Potter and Mr. Weasley might assist him in some classes while Miss Granger monitors the Infirmary.”

Hermione muffled a chuckle with her hand at the baffled expressions on Harry and Ron’s faces. 

“You want  _ us  _ to teach?” Ron squeaked.

“We’ve never done any of this before!” Harry nodded frantically in agreement with Ron.

“Well, we certainly won’t be asking you to demonstrate an amputation,” Pomfrey replied tartly. “I will give you lessons here in the Infirmary a few nights a week so that you are ahead of your classmates. I want to stress the importance of taking this very seriously and I think it will help if the other students see how helpful healing is. Consider it, please, and try to encourage others to enroll in this course.”

Once the initial bewilderment had passed, Harry was now nodding thoughtfully. “It took me by surprise, but I’ll give it a go.”

“Good. I trust you have no issues with this, Miss Granger?”

“No, Madame Pomfrey,” Hermione said. While the thought of manning the Hospital Wing was a little daunting, she was sure that the Matron would ensure that she was properly trained before unleashing her healing abilities on a poor student. “Actually, I had thought about pursuing a career in Healing.”

Poppy smiled. “Consider this a crash course in healing, then.”

* * *

After a couple of hours, the group had brainstormed until the paper was almost full. Hermione’s mind was whirling with information. Who knew that healing entailed so many steps? There was so much to learn!

Madame Pomfrey cast a glance at the clock and jumped. “Goodness! It’s nearly 10! If you’ll excuse me, I have a potion I must attend to. Feel free to stay and brainstorm some more, but I must be off. If anything comes up and my assistance is required, ring the bell outside my office. Otherwise, you may leave the parchment on my desk when you’re done.”

As Pomfrey hustled off, Harry grabbed Ron’s arm and tugged him back down to his chair. “Hold on, Ron, we need to talk. What was up with Snape’s absence? It must have something to do with the raids last night.”

Hermione scowled at Harry and shushed him. She quickly cast some privacy charms and rapped him on the head with her wand. “Really, Harry, we need to work on that.”

He smiled sheepishly. “Sorry. But my point still stands.”

“But if he  _ is _ a spy for the Order—which he must be,” she interjected at the unconvinced looks on their faces, “—why would he have been harmed during the raids?”

“Okay, say Snape is a spy, maybe the Death Eaters found out?” Ron suggested, and Hermione could see the chess player in him taking over. “I don’t think so, though. Dumbledore is always busier around raids, but he didn’t seem any different.”

“He was too calm,” Harry agreed. “Maybe Snape actually is off doing Potions research, but for the Order.”

Hermione rested her chin on her fist. “It’s possible. We don’t have enough information to go on, though, and even if we did know, there isn’t much we could do about it. I think we’re better off concentrating on this Healing class.”

“It is pretty brilliant, isn’t it? I feel a lot better knowing that Neville, Ginny and Luna and all our friends will be able to protect themselves better.” A small burden had finally seemed to have lifted from Harry, and he leaned back tiredly in his chair.

“You two should go on to bed before curfew; I’m going to look over our list one more time,” Hermione said as she picked up her quill once again.

“Bloody hell, mate, let’s go before my legs cramp up—I don’t think I can handle sitting down any longer,” Ron spoke up, standing and stretching. 

Harry grinned impishly. “I dunno, Ron, it seems irresponsible to leave the mad woman by herself.”

“Get out of here,” Hermione replied, pretending to throw her quill at them.

“You know, it’s not fair that she doesn’t have a curfew,” Ron’s voice trailed from the doorway as the two boys exited the room.

“The perks of being Head Girl!” she called after him.

* * *

An hour later, Hermione was ready to go to her room. She packed her quills and rolled up the parchment, rubbing wearily at her bleary eyes. The Hospital Wing really needed to invest in some brighter lights.

Suddenly, a shining horse strode into the room, it’s hooves pounding silently through the air. Hermione grew alert as she recognized Ginny’s Patronus open its mouth:

“A third year was out after curfew and fell down the stairs outside Gryffindor Tower. Madame Pomfrey is required.”

Groaning, Hermione walked stiffly and placed the scroll on the Matron’s desk. She rang the large hanging bell and tried to return feeling to her foot. 

“What’s wrong?” Madame Pomfrey asked as she appeared from a door in the back of her office.

Hermione relayed the message and Pomfrey scowled fiercely.

“Of all times—“ she grumbled under her breath. A few choice words were thrown in, and Hermione had a feeling she wasn’t meant to hear them. “Miss Granger, if you wouldn’t mind staying here until I come back, I would appreciate it. It seems that you will be beginning your studies in healing sooner rather than later.”

“Of course, Madame Pomfrey. What do you want me to do?”

The Healer towed her into the back room of her office, where a curtain wall obscured half the area. “I have a patient here in stable but serious condition. There is a charm set up to alert if he is awake or ailing. He cannot be left alone, but you do not have to stay in this room; the alarm will be heard throughout the Infirmary. As long as you are within hearing distance, it is fine.”

Hermione tried not to gape. This was not what she had in mind as her first task in healing.

“A low ringing will be heard if he wakens; loud, shrill ringing means that something is going terribly wrong. In this case, you must inform myself or the Headmaster immediately—I would suggest you use the Floo in my office to reach the Headmaster’s office,” Pomfrey continued, oblivious to Hermione connecting the dots in her mind. “Do you understand?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Hermione said, forcing herself not to stare at the outline behind the curtain.

“Good, I’ll return soon. Oh, and, Miss Granger? The first rule for a Healer: always keep privacy and confidentiality.”

Hermione swallowed and nodded. How badly was Professor Snape hurt?

As the Matron left in a hurry, Hermione seated herself gingerly at the desk in her office. She had a distinct feeling that she did not belong there and tried valiantly to ignore the soft breathing coming from behind her; she had closed the office door but had left the room to Snape’s door open just in case.

The office walls were covered in posters and diagrams of all sorts of ailments, so Hermione occupied herself with reading them. Unfortunately, her mind kept wandering to the unmoving silhouette behind the curtain. She anxiously picked at her robes and prayed that nothing would happen. Judging by the steady, even breathing, he didn’t appear to be waking up anytime soon. Hopefully she would not be needed for anything and Pomfrey would return to take care of her patient.

As the minutes passed on, Hermione felt slightly more at ease and began perusing the bookshelf across from her. It was actually quite peaceful once she settled herself.

The tranquility didn’t last long, however, as a low ringing cut through the air as soon as she sat back down. She almost threw the book up in surprise as she startled to her feet and slammed the book down onto the desk as she rushed to the back room.

Hermione slowed as she entered the bleak, undecorated room and found her hands shaking while she pushed the curtain aside. She stumbled over to the hospital bed, eyes raking over the scene in front of her. Professor Snape was tucked in under a large white blanket, only his shoulders and head visible. His hair was surprisingly not greasy—Poppy must have cleaned it—and his skin seemed terribly pale, even for him. She valiantly ignored the fact that he seemed to be wearing only a hospital gown.

For a moment, Hermione worried that she had somehow managed to mix up the two different alerts. Snape was stone still and didn’t appear to be waking in a hurry. She was heartened when his skin pinkened somewhat and he shifted slightly in the bed—no need to call Dumbledore.

Then, almost frighteningly fast, his eyes opened and flitted around the room. Finally, they rested on her and she forced herself not to flinch at his dark, ponderous gaze. Was he mentally making potions ingredients out of her limbs?

In a hoarse voice, he said, “So  _ this _ is what hell feels like,” and promptly went back to sleep.

Stunned, Hermione stood paralyzed as the ringing died down, leaving a faint buzzing in her ears. Then she scowled indignantly and stomped back to her book.


	3. Mutualism

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who's come along for the ride! <3 Since I'm just going through this fic again now, please feel free to let me know if there's anything that I missed in the tags that should be added :) Enjoy!

A week had passed, and Snape was finally beginning to feel almost normal. Poppy had said that once his body had recovered from the shock, healing his leg was easy. He still had not been allowed out of his bed by himself, but the pain was now tolerable and he no longer required any painkilling potions. He grimaced as he recalled some of the stories Poppy had been regaling him with; it was hardly his fault that he’d been delirious from pain and sedatives.

He hauled himself into a sitting position, leaning against the head of his hospital bed.  _ If only Lucius could’ve decorated the room _ , he thought as he sniffed disdainfully at the off-white brick walls and curtain. He glanced at the letter Lucius had sent him via house elf and cast a wandless  _ Incendio  _ to remove the evidence of their correspondence. 

So Avery was dead—killed by the Dark Lord and taking the fall for Snape’s passing of information to the Order. Avery was a fool for inviting Mulciber on the raid in the middle of the Ministry. A rush of glee spread through him; at least there was some justice in the world.

His joy immediately tampered down as he recalled how everything had gone awry. Bellatrix had shown up and surprised the Order members, allowing Mulciber to cast the Imperius curse—his favorite—on Tonks. ‘Kill the Order,’ Mulciber had commanded and Snape remembered how his heart rate had spiked upon reading those words in Lucius’ letter. Had he been found out? He could have kissed the pompous prat when he read on and learned that Lucius had covered for him and informed the Dark Lord that he’d been hit by a stray curse. He’d have to find a good Christmas present for the Malfoys this year.

Then again, Lucius had taken the liberty of giving him a bath to wash his hair while he was unconscious, so perhaps he’d simply gift them a slightly better version of the wine he normally gave them.

For now, though, he needed to go to the bathroom and have a chat with Albus—preferably not at the same time. Merlin knew how the Headmaster was gifted with such terrible timing.

Snape grunted and dragged his legs to the side so that they hung off the edge of the bed. He no longer felt any pain, and Poppy had cast a numbing charm so that she could prod at his leg that morning. Apparently, she hadn’t saw fit to remove it afterwards. 

_ “I don’t feel any breakages or abnormalities anymore,” she’d said happily. _

_ “That’s wonderful,” he’d replied testily. “It just so happens that  _ I _ can’t  _ feel _ anything.” _

But it was nearing lunchtime and he really had to piss. He had one good leg—surely that was all he needed. Using one arm to brace himself against the bed, he carefully put his weight on his left leg and nearly toppled over from the dead weight of his other leg. At least the swelling had gone down considerably. His leg was nearly the right size, but was still mottled with bruises.

He hopped and hobbled to the bathroom by his bed, rather thankful that the door to Poppy’s office was closed. WIth a sigh of relief, he pulled his cock out of his briefs and hiked the goddamned gown up.

Snape was moving to make himself presentable again when the bathroom door opened—really, did no one knock anymore—and Tonks strode in as if she owned the bloody place. Damn Poppy for removing the lock so that he couldn’t ignore her.

“Listen, Snape, I’m so sorry for what happened last week—” The auror’s face was comical as she took in what she had walked in on.

“It’s good to see you as well, Nymphadora. Don’t mind me, I was just finishing up,” he said sardonically. With deliberate care, he adjusted his briefs and pulled down the gown, smoothing the fabric and wiping off invisible dirt. He ambled over to the sink and washed his hands leisurely. At least she hadn't barged in on him with his underwear down.

To Tonks’ credit, she didn’t balk. He mentally gave her points as she continued on as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened. At least the aurors had been taught something right.

“If you’re done being a prick,” Tonks muttered under her breath as her hair turned fiery red like Lily’s. 

Snape tilted his head to the side, marveling at the fact that the reminder of Lily had no effect on him. Well, other than a sudden urge to check on Potter and his friends. How long did he have to adhere to this agreement with Lily? Did his actions count now or did he have a grace period first? The protection that she placed on his soul had better be reliable.

Tonks had stayed silent under his blank stare before finally cracking. “Okay, I know you don’t like me and you don’t want me here right now. I’m—”

“You walked in on me using the bathroom,” he flung back at her, leaning towards her angrily with one hand on the counter. He was pleased at the sight of her taking a step back in surrender. While the situation was mildly embarrassing, he found that he felt much better by ignoring his discomfort and increasing hers.

“I know, I know, sorry, I thought it was your room because there was no one in the bed back there. IjustwantedtoapologizeforwhathappenedandIhopeyou’refeelingbetterbye.”

Tonks’ hair had turned a meek brown and she turned to flee, but Snape’s voice halted her progress. Since she was here and making a nuisance of herself, he might as well engineer a way for her to be useful. 

“Where do you think you’re going?” he asked, making sure to inject some venom into his voice.

“Er, getting out of your hair and probably never looking you in the eye again for the next few weeks?”

He suppressed a snort. “Help me get back to my bed,” he commanded. “You will update me on everything that has happened since. Any injuries?”

“Yes, sir,” Tonks straightened as if she was performing an Auror training drill. She scurried over and offered her arm as balance against his lame leg. “Mad-Eye broke some ribs but he’s fine now. Kingsley had some cuts cleaned up by Molly and Hestia lost a finger - it’s been reattached now though. Kingsley managed to take down Mulciber after you Stupefied me—if only he’d done it a second earlier—but Bellatrix Apparated away with him.”

Snape nodded, settling himself back onto his bed. “And yourself?”

“Me? It was nothing. Just a minor concussion.”

“Fine. Do you know of how I ended up at Hogwarts?”

“Malfoy Sr. had a house elf Apparate you in front of the gates and owled a letter to Dumbledore, sir.”

“Very well. You may go.”

Tonks huffed a breath at his dismissive manner.

“Oh, Tonks?” Snape said casually to her back. She glanced over her shoulder questioningly. “Let’s pretend this whole incident never happened, hmm?”

She gave him an enthusiastic salute. “Yes, sir!”

Snape rolled his eyes at her retreating figure and leaned back against his pillows with a groan. It was going to be a long day.

* * *

“I’ll come by again tomorrow morning, shall I?” Albus informed him.

“Yes, Headmaster,” Snape agreed. Albus had filled in the details of what Tonks had shared with him over dinner in his hospital room and was now standing up to leave. 

“Would you care for a chocolate frog, Severus?” Dumbledore asked while he cracked off the leg of another one.

“No, thank you,” he said.

Dumbledore cheerily placed one on his nightstand anyway. “I’ll see you tomorrow, then!”

“Yes, yes, vacate the room please, Headmaster. I don’t want my patient to tire himself out,” Poppy said as she shooed Albus out the door. “Now, Severus, what are you up to tonight?”

Snape scowled. “Nothing, apparently, since I don’t want to ‘tire myself out’.”

“Good! So you’ll oversee a healing lesson I had planned tonight. There’s been an outbreak of stomach flu in the Hufflepuff dormitories that I must attend to.” Poppy beamed winningly at him.

“Excuse me?” Snape’s scowl deepened. “These lessons are not my responsibility—in fact, I am a patient here and therefore should really rest in my bed for the evening.”

“Oh, don't you try to play that card on me, Severus. I know you hate being on bed rest even more than teaching. Please? There are Hufflepuffs ruining the lavatories that I must attend to.”

“Merlin, Poppy, alright. What must I do?” While it wasn't the ideal way to spend a night, at least it would be productive and grant him the opportunity to check on Potter, Granger, and Weasley.

“Well, I’m sure you can educate them on some of the more basic healing potions, couldn’t you?”

“I suppose I could,” he said noncommittally. 

“Excellent, they should be here any minute. Thank you, Severus.”

Poppy scrambled out of the Infirmary and Severus pulled himself out of his bed to limp to the main room. His leg was certainly on the mend, though he was unsure of how long it would be until he could teach again. At least Poppy had allowed him to change into his usual robes after his run-in with Tonks.

Snape raised an eyebrow to himself as he used the table outside of Poppy’s office for support. He was sure that he’d heard his name…

“Ron! I’m fairly certain we would’ve heard if Professor Snape was dead.” Granger’s voice carried rather shrilly from the hall. Snape straightened and donned a scowl as if on cue when the heavy doors creaked open. “This speculation is ridiculous. I'm sure he's fine. Don’t be surprised if we see him—”

Snape decided to finish her sentence for her, hiding his amusement as Potter and Weasley’s faces screamed,  _ Abort! _

“Right now?” he offered smoothly.

Granger’s face fell at the sight him; her head lowered nervously. “Well, I was going to say ‘soon,’ but I suppose now is as good a time as ever.”

As much as he itched to milk the discomfort on the trio’s faces, he mentally prepared himself to be civil—or as civil as possible. He needed to gain their trust, not push it away.

“Madame Pomfrey has been called away. As such, I will be taking over your lesson for tonight.”

“Has something happened?” Potter asked, green eyes begging for information.

Although Snape was still tempted to sneer at the boy’s headstrong personality, he didn’t find the mixture of Lily’s eyes in James Potter’s face to be quite so nauseating. He was discomfited at the realization and he wondered just how much Lily’s magic had affected him; he made a mental note to do some research on it when he was released from the Hospital Wing.

Curiously, he turned his gaze towards Granger. She was still bushy haired and unbearingly eager—nothing had changed there. And yet, he felt a small inkling of respect at how she was able to balance schoolwork with Potter and Weasley’s antics and somehow manage to do well in every aspect. _She really is brilliant, isn’t she?_ He narrowed his eyes at her anxious expression. _Still too bloody sensitive though._ _Probably could’ve been in Hufflepuff. House elf rights? Merlin save us all._

Finally settling his stare at Weasley, he was willing to acknowledge that the boy wasn’t completely incompetent—none of the Weasleys were, really. In fact, Weasley’s ability to strategize could be fairly helpful, if he could get the boy to focus entirely on the war.

How far did Lily’s magic extend? Snape cast his thoughts back and pulled up an image of Sirius Black’s face contorted in rage. He was reassured to discover that anger still coursed through him at the injustice of it all, and he smiled bitterly as he pictured the dog falling through the Veil. If only he’d been there to witness it.

Snape realized he’d been silent for too long when the students in front of him began looking at each other uncertainly. “There was an outbreak in the Hufflepuff dorm, but nothing serious,” he informed them. “Let’s all have a seat, shall we?”

Apparently he was being a little too civil because Potter and Weasley were exchanging startled looks while Granger inspected him like he was a dissected specimen.

He growled impatiently, “Today, if you would.”’

The two boys gave themselves satisfied nods and sat. Granger now looked ready to poke him with a scalpel.

“How are you tonight, Professor?” she asked, her eyes boring into his as she tried to convey her message with a jerk of her head towards his room. Why did Poppy think it was a good idea to leave him in Granger’s care? Snape repressed a shudder at the girl’s attempt at subtlety. Was she having a stroke?

“I am quite well, Miss Granger,” he grit out through his teeth. “And since you are so interested in my well-being, why don't we use this lesson as an opportunity to demonstrate appropriate healing methods on oneself.”

“Sir?” she questioned.

“Fetch me some bruise removal paste from the office,” he ordered as he heaved his bad leg onto an empty chair next to him.

“I didn't know Fred and George marketed their product to Hogwarts,” Weasley mused as Granger scrambled to comply.

“They did not, technically. As a result, Madame Pomfrey does not bother healing minor bruises. Only under special circumstances will she have the twins send a supply over.”

“Special circumstances?” Potter asked. “...Sir,” he tacked on belatedly, as if hearing his title would make Snape more willing to impart information.

“You do not know why I have been absent from class?” Snape raised an eyebrow in surprise and eyed Granger suspiciously. So she hadn't said anything.

“Professor Dumbledore said you were doing research,” the boy fished.

Snape weighed his options carefully; he could go with Dumbledore’s story, or he could tell the truth. It had only been a raid, after all—there were no sensitive details that he could not share with them. He doubted that it would be enough to completely gain their trust, but he could almost taste the group’s irritation at being left out and was sure that he could use that to his advantage.

“Come with me—this is not a discussion to have in the open,” Snape said, making sure to distribute his weight evenly to minimize his limp as he made his way to his hospital room. “Bring your chairs,” he added when they were already almost there.

Granger claimed Poppy’s office chair as soon as she had found the paste. Scowling, the two boys turned back to grab their chairs.

Once everyone had settled, Snape was propped up on the bed with his leg elevated on the spare chair in the room that he had claimed. He took the bruise removal paste from Granger and opened it, coating his fingers with it as he lectured.

“First, when treating an injury, you generally want to have the injured party laid down in a resting position. That, of course, can be difficult if you are alone and wounded. Keep the afflicted limb at rest while you treat it initially, then elevate it to reduce swelling.” Snape pulled his trouser leg up with a dramatic flourish. “For example, now that the curse has been stopped and the bones fixed, I can apply this paste to accelerate the healing process.”

Three pairs of eyes goggled at his abused leg while he calmly smoothed the substance over any discolorations.

“Merlin save us all if you cannot stomach this,” Snape continued, “because a few little bruises are immaterial compared to the initial injury.”

“Oh, erm, I was just caught by surprise, is all,” Potter soldiered on valiantly. “So what exactly  _ did _ happen, sir?”

“Patience, Mr. Potter,” he replied. “The paste must be lathered on and rubbed into the skin. You  _ must _ treat the cause of the bruising—if it is still present—before you do any of this. Otherwise, the bruising will return and you will have wasted valuable time. Although it is tempting to treat the most visible injuries first, always take a  _ brief  _ moment to assess and prioritize—you do not want your patient to die because you were dawdling. Is that clear?”

“What kind of injuries that are not always obvious should we look out for?” Granger asked, eyes wide as she committed to memory every thing he was saying.

“You must remember that there are curses and hexes that can act invisibly but still cause severe damage. Most of these spells will have subtle hints and symptoms to determine what they are. Think, however, of the Cruciatus curse. It leaves no visible damage; no wounds, no scars, no broken bones. This is an anomaly, though, since your best course of action is to incapacitate the caster. Other curses will continue to destroy even after the user is dead—the bone shattering curse, for instance.” Snape gestured to his leg. “What sort of symptoms would you expect to find from someone who was hit by this spell?”

“Bone splinters puncturing the skin?” Granger suggested, brow furrowed. “I suppose if you felt the leg, it wouldn’t be as solid as it should be.”

“Both are correct,” Snape confirmed. “There is a spell that allows the caster to see the outline of a patient’s bones; have Madame Pomfrey teach it to you sometime. There will be intense swelling and bruising almost immediately. Shock is an issue—keep the person’s core as warm as possible. What other complications could arise?”

All three remained silent, suddenly appearing to tense up as if afraid they would be called upon and mocked because they didn't know the answer. Snape almost wanted to smile nastily as if it was Potions class, but controlled himself.

“Splintered bones can cause further damage to ligaments or organs, depending on where the victim was hit. It is best if you do not attempt to move someone who has been hit in a delicate or vital area, such as the spine or ribs.”  _ Apparating with someone is also not recommended. _

“And this happened to you, Professor?” Potter spoke up again.

Snape rolled his eyes. “A point to Gryffindor for outstanding observational skills, Potter; two points from Gryffindor for your lack of patience and interrupting a lesson.”

It was easy to see a sulk invading Potter’s thoughts and body language. “Fine, if you won’t tell me, I guess there’s no point in me staying here.”

“Don't put words in my mouth, Potter,” Snape growled. “Act like an adult and maybe it'll justify you being treated like one.”

He was gratified to see the boy actually stop and take the time to think, though Snape prayed that Potter wouldn't think too hard lest he hurt himself. It was painful watching him trying to decide the best way to respond.

After what seemed like an age, with Granger and Weasley holding their breath while watching their friend, Potter settled back into his seat. “Sorry, sir. Please forgive my behaviour,” he said quietly.

Snape examined the boy’s repentant posture. He certainly wasn’t entirely sincere, but Snape was satisfied that at least the Boy Who Lived might finally be growing into the Boy Who Learned to Hold His Tongue.

“Very well,” Snape said, “although there is not much to tell.” He cast some privacy charms before beginning. “I was involved with raiding Muggle houses with a group of Death Eaters; I alerted Order members with your little DA galleon trick and they came to stop the festivities.”

“Wow,” Granger breathed. “I hadn’t realized that Professor Dumbledore had integrated the galleons so quickly. I’m glad it worked well.”

“Indeed. Unfortunately, the untimely arrival of Bellatrix Lestrange caused an issue and the Order was stretched a little thinner than we'd planned. No one was gravely hurt, though, and the Death Eaters were forced to retreat. What are you looking at, Miss Granger?”

The girl was once again eyeing him like an experiment—or worse, like a project. “No one was gravely hurt except you, sir,” she said brazenly.

He lowered his leg to the ground and stood up, scowling darkly. “I believe that I am still alive and competent.”

Granger opened her mouth to object, and Snape hastened to avoid whatever terrible idea she had concocted.

“Nevertheless, I believe that I have a trade-off that would be mutually beneficial for us all,” he announced. “You want to be informed of Order ongoings?”

The boys watched him attentively, nodding in confirmation.

“I am willing to give you information if you will give me some as well. A bit of  _ quid pro quo _ , if you will; I tell you what is happening with the Order, and you tell me if anything noteworthy has happened among Hogwarts.”

“Would our information be that beneficial to you?” Weasley asked doubtfully. “I don't see how you would get much out of this.”

“I would like to be as informed as possible about the state of the student body,” Snape said neutrally. “Any information is good information, don't you agree?”

Potter seemed to accept this reasoning—after all, he of all people should know how it felt to be lacking in intel. 

“It sounds good to me. All our other sources have been running dry,” Potter admitted. “What do you think, Hermione?”

Granger was tapping her chin thoughtfully. “It couldn't hurt, I suppose. So long as you don't decide to run off and do something stupid after you've heard some bad news.”

Snape cringed inwardly at the thought. “I can assure you, if any of you try to pull something as idiotic as that, I will not hesitate to Obliviate you immediately. This information is not to be taken lightly. If you wish to strategize, you may come to me to discuss options.”

“And how do we know we can trust you?” Potter demanded. “What if you give us false information?”

_ Like the Dark Lord did to you in fifth year?  _ Snape countered, “I could ask the same of you. You need not decide right away—I will contact you in a few days, then you can give me your answer. You may leave.”

He watched the three Gryffindors file out his room, levitating their chairs behind them and whispering fiercely to each other. 

Snape hoped that Lily was watching this and approved of his actions.


End file.
